


Megalomania

by GrumpiestCat



Category: Standoff
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8172563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpiestCat/pseuds/GrumpiestCat
Summary: You had to be careful - careful that you weren't negotiating with yourself.  Because, let's face it, you'll lose every time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, once upon a time, I wrote fic for a show that me and like three other people watched.

One of the perils of this job is that you project your own issues into every negotiation. When you were with Matt, it seemed as if everything dissolved into him. The HT was an (occasionally) insensitive clod who put his foot in his mouth more often than not. Or the HT was a woman who was sick and tired of guys like that, guys who thought that every problem could be solved by grabbing her and kissing her. You had to be careful - careful that you weren't negotiating with yourself.  
  
Because, let's face it, you'll lose every time.  
  
Right now, you're frightened. Scared that you're going to slip, scared that the next words out of your mouth are going to echo those idiotic comments from forever ago: _I'm sleeping with my co-worker. I know it's stupid, I know it'll get me in trouble, I know this from previous, personal experience, but I'm an idiot, a sucker for a pretty girl with a pretty figure, and when it comes to my career, I have never been known to make smart choices._  
  
Or something like that.  
  
"You know what they call it?"  
  
You almost don't hear the HT's question. Fortunately, your partner seems to notice that you're fazing out. He kicks your chair, just enough to get your attention, but not enough to get anyone else's.  
  
"I don't know what you mean, sorry," you say.  
  
"Fishing off the company pier," Monica says, her voice flat. "Fishing off the fucking company pier."  
  
"I've heard that expression before. It's not very flattering." Off to the side, your partner holds up a scribbled note: _she's unraveling_.  
  
But she's not, not really. She's angry, and rightfully so. Her personal life is nobody's business, and as long as it's not interfering with he way she does her job, who cares? From all you know, nothing that Monica Brandeis did with her co-workers in any way endangered anyone at Harwood Elementary School. At most, there had been some jokes from the kids. She probably had an airtight case against the administration for wrongful termination, before she decided to walk into a classroom with a shotgun and a bottle of gin.  
  
"I'm being punished for having human emotions," she bemoans. You can hear the gin in her voice now. "Like everyone here doesn't have them, too. Like they don't made stupid decisions because their heart asks them to."  
  
"Everyone does," you reply. And here, here is where you almost slip, where you almost screw up, where you almost say: _everyone makes mistakes_.  
  
Bad move, because it condemns her, because it judges her, because it tells her that what felt good at the time was actually an idiotic decision, one she (you) should be paying for.  
  
Rule #1 is _don't try to negotiate with yourself_.  
  
"I don't want to hurt anybody."  
  
"I know. I know that, Monica." Your partner points to the white board, as if after five hours of this, you don't know their names by heart. "I know you don't want to hurt Suzanne, or Jason, or Lydia, or John. That's why you haven't fired a shot yet. That's why you let the children go."  
  
Silence. For too long. You say her name again, wonder if you've lost her, but then you hear sniffling on the line.  
  
"What did I do that was wrong?"  
  
_Nothing_ , you want to say, but this, too, is the wrong answer. Negotiating with yourself again, convincing yourself that there's nothing wrong with what you're doing, with the way you're running your life. Your ex (ex-partner, ex-lover) probably passes your current lover at least once a day, probably has heard the (false) rumors about you and your current partner, and you tell yourself that there's nothing wrong with that, it's just how it happened. And, really, rationally, yes, this is true - _you_ did nothing wrong.  
  
But you didn't walk into a school with a gun, and somewhere in the back of her mind, there's a bit of her that knows that this is wrong, terribly, horribly wrong. You lie, she knows, it explodes.  
  
Rule #1 is _never lie to the HT unless you're sure you can get away with it_.  
  
"You're not res-"  
  
Bang.  
  
Crash.  
  
"Monica?"  
  
Gun shot. Shots. Screams.  
  
"I got her!"  
  
You don't recognize the voice.  
  
Tactical is - more screaming - they're moving in - another shot - screams.  
  
"John?"  
  
"Jason Silverman." His voice is loud, proud, full of adrenaline. He's smiling. He's happy. He fucked up, and he thinks he's a hero.  
  
She's dead, she's dead, you know this.  
  
"Third grade teacher," he continues. "I got her!"  
  
In the background, screaming. 'You shot her! You killed her! You didn't have to kill her!"  
  
Tactical is down. Moments, seconds, and Frank tells you what you already knew. HT is down. Dead.  
  
The next few hours suck.  
  
  
  
\--  
  
  
  
You know she was listening, the whole time, to the entire thing. You know, because when she kisses you, it's just a little more desperate, a little more heated, a little more excited. The best sex you and Ma-  
  
\- don't.  
  
She gets you half-naked before you think to start removing her clothing, too.

  


(fin.)  



End file.
